The truth machine, p.23
Nebula: A Space Opera in the Classic Tradition (Blood Empire Book 2), page 23
“Nebula.”
“—yes. We know of the Blood Empire’s fleet, of course, but what connection does this ship have?”
“Let me show you.” I beckon Danielli forward to pass over the datapad I’ve prepared for this moment. I hold out my hand. “May I?”
Mokral gestures for me to continue.
I place the device aside. “Nebula is four times the size of Constellation. We’re not privy to its full firepower capacity”—a tiny niggle of something Frohlt said tugs at me, but I do my best to ignore it—“but hopefully we have one of Oberon’s generals already on Rykkamon right now who can attest to some of its capabilities.”
“Really?” Mokral leans forward. “A defector?”
“Maybe. More like we share a common enemy.”
“Oberon?” He looks puzzled.
“No. Something bigger. This is where we think my father and his work on Constellation is key.”
“Where did you discover this information?”
I glance at Rita before turning to the Commissar. “At an undisclosed location I won’t share. It’s also where we encountered the Blood Empire general. General Kozlov. In disguise.”
He waves me on. “Too much detail. Why Rykkamon?”
I crease my brow. “That’s what’s puzzling us. But looking at this”—I punch up the portable holo on the datapad and show the Blood Empire fleet, the zoomed-in blur depicting Nebula, and the trajectory the late Frohlt had estimated— “my analyst…” I have to pause as the guilt for the doc’s demise overwhelms me. “My analyst was confident he’d predicted the destination to be Rykkamon. With a vessel that size coming our way departing from a known enemy’s assembled war fleet, what else can we assume but that this is a mark of aggression, based on intelligence about the current location of the Sector’s power base. If Oberon wanted to parlay, he’d have sent a defenseless scout. Either way, he has a strategy that has evolved from his last brute force attempts to invade.” Again, a strange sensation tickles my mind about Nebula, but whatever it is remains obscure.
I stop and wait. I don’t know what a typical Rykkan hard expression looks like, but if I had to guess, Mokral wears one.
“Your analyst. Can I talk with him?”
“He perished trying to get us here faster than bad news coming out of Takao.”
“Unfortunate.” He looks to be deep in thought. “And you think you can stop this ship?”
“If you return control of Constellation to me, yes.” I sense my stomach fluttering.
“Hmm. You are not one-hundred percent sure of yourself.” He smiles. “Probably a good thing. You say you have a plan? How do you propose to protect us from further betrayal?”
I present the strategies I, Danielli, Mitch, and the rest of the crew previously hammered out. The only thing I keep to myself is the hyperrelay message. Hopefully, all Mokral senses is my general apprehension over the entire strategy.
He seems to concur. “Bold. Of course. But you have to persuade the Jovians. How do you plan to do that?”
I feel my sore face protest as I try to smile. “My SIM will twist their arms.”
“Ha!” The Commissar lets out a barked laugh. “Not literally, I hope.”
I stay silent. I’m not prepared to say no.
Confrontations
We spend just over two more hours thrashing out the logistics of calling an urgent committee meeting, without bringing attention to a dangerous fugitive-at-large. I point out to the Commissar that the transmission from Takao will eventually reach Rykkamon and trigger a full-scale alert. What I don’t reveal is that this could play into my little sting operation.
But after I’ve quizzed the Chief about how long has elapsed since fleeing Naxxus, I calculate I’ve still got time to play my cards.
Following some vigorous debate, we’re in agreement.
Now our entire contingent, split across two nondescript shuttles, docks at the main port of a sizable military facility.
We disembark and the guards rush us off to a side entrance. We hurry through a series of cramped underground corridors until we arrive outside the entrance to what I assume is the meeting room. GravSuit or not, the tension humming through my body is palpable.
Mokral glances at me. “Stay inside the protection of my guards.” He motions to four bulkier-than-average Rykkans who close in around me. But it’s moot with none of us donning helmets for our gravSuits, as anyone taking a potshot could see my stubbly baldness towering over them. Still, I like the reassurance. My visage must have been all over Rykkamon’s comm channels, so even without hair and sporting a patch, I have no doubt I’m easily identifiable.
The Commissar taps a code. The door opens and we walk in. The Chief, Danielli, and the others follow behind my wall of Rykkan protectors.
The noise begins.
“SILENCE.” Matlock’s amplified voice reverberates through the large, stonewalled and unadorned room.
In the middle is a large, round, Rykkan-style table, smaller than the enormous one in the destroyed space station, but still with the capacity to seat up to thirty.
A quick count sees only fifteen seats occupied.
Some, though, aren’t seated. They are standing and yelling over Matlock’s commands, while stabbing angry fingers at me. Some foolhardy enough to raise weapons.
Mokral steps forward and urges calm. I wonder if he’s manipulating emotions, or if he’s that influential people will do as he says. Or both.
I hold back, surrounded by his guards.
Mokral walks to the side of the table and begins without preamble. “This woman is neither guilty of any part in attacks on our Sector’s defense integrity, nor is she a liability to our future survival. In fact, I believe she has done as she said she would, and brought us crucial intelligence that could prove to be the difference between life and death.
“I suspect that if she cannot convince you here, she will gladly surrender, but I will vouch for our safety and her integrity.”
I’m not sure I’ll hand myself over to any Jovian, but I sense this is the Commissar’s gambit to direct the discussion. I catch Matlock’s eye and nod acknowledgment. He looks drawn and ravaged by stress and anxiety. Then again, I’m not looking so fabulous myself. Garnek stands and waves everyone down. A discolored bandage surrounds his head, and he hasn’t so much as glanced my way. Xavier sits next to him, tapping away on a datapad.
Then, with a start, I see Pedro sitting in the shadows. With every non-Rykkan wearing gravSuits, along with my limited vision, I didn’t recognize him at first. He’s haggard and there’s a sheen of heavier than usual sweat across his face. He won’t meet my gaze. Maybe he’s shocked by my appearance.
I don’t know why he’s here, but dismiss the thought as Matlock speaks.
“Captain Jackson and your crew, please take your seats. We are pressed for time, so deliver whatever you have for us succinctly.”
He doesn’t say it, but I suspect he means leave out the emotions and judgment. I nod and take my seat with the others after the Rykkan guards pull back behind the exit and close it.
I send silent prayers to the stars that Slingshot has made it down, or my job is going to be tougher than it needs to be. But now it’s time to focus…
Taking a deep inhale to steady myself, I bring everyone up to speed. The only facts I omit are the existence of Celos. And the presence of SIMs. The key to all of this remains Oberon’s as yet unknown objectives and some bigger threat we don’t yet understand. And Nebula, of course.
The datapad and Frohlt’s analysis are central to backing up my points with hard data.
A high-ranking Jovian leans forward to speak and waits for Matlock’s permission. Once granted, he holds his gaze on me. “Once again, Captain Jackson, all we have is your word and some interpreted data. Where is this analyst?”
“Dead. One of the costs of getting me here. Next question?” I’m trying to keep the emotion out of my voice, and hide my suspicions about the Jovians. I dare not let down my guard, or the Rykkan presence will turn on me.
“I’m sorry to hear that. General Garnek and Commander Xavier—do you concur with the veracity of this data and the Captain’s conclusions about the Blood Empire and this battlecruiser?”
“We do,” Garnek answers. “But Captain Jackson may have a way to verify this intelligence.” He looks over at me, and in return, I turn to Xavier with a raised eye and hold my breath. He nods.
The stress ebbs from my body with Garnek’s implied confirmation that Slingshot survived its descent to the surface. Though shivers run through me when I realize I don’t know who else endured. I’ve barely made amends with Danielli and Plexi, yet they’ve both shown a perhaps undeserved willingness to follow me.
“With the committee’s permission, may I introduce a potential ally?”
Matlock raises his brow and looks round, but no one objects.
I look at Xavier. He taps on his datapad and the door behind me opens. I twist round to see my key player waiting in a gravSuit for the sign he can enter. I beckon him in and address the group.
“This is General Kozlov. A former direct report to Oberon of the Blood Empire. General Garnek will verify he has DNA confirmation.
The room is stunned into silence.
I’m grateful for the redirection of attention as they bombard Kozlov with questions. Finally, the attendees accept the scenario I’ve painted: A battlecruiser dwarfing Constellation is heading towards Rykkamon; Oberon is motivated by an unspecified invasion agenda and is himself terrified of a threat bigger than another bloody war between the Blood Empire and our own factionalized Sector. Which we think has something to do with an imbalance in space. To top that, he’s keeping a lid on things so tight he must be petrified his entire sector will devolve into anarchy if the truth gets out.
Someone asks Kozlov about those loyal to him inside Oberon’s command and their motivation to disrupt Oberon’s plans.
He holds out his hands. “We may have allies in the Circle of Seven I can reach. But the numbers are with Oberon. And until we find out why Nebula is heading here…” he shrugs, leaving the question unanswered. He’s a diplomat, having not once pushed the agenda he considers more urgent: whatever is driving Oberon’s action. I guess we have to deal with Nebula first.
Nebula. The name echoes around my mind. Why would one ship come to invade or capture Rykkamon—a planet not suited to the dominant humanoid bipeds in the galaxy? I wrack my brain—and once again that tiny nagging feeling sparks a rushed train of thought. Oberon hunted down my father, and maybe is looking for information from me, or something I’d discovered after I had salvaged Constellation. Papa had tried to hide the ship, yet the unfathomable drive ended up with the Jovians. Until I came on the scene. Did they have the scent of something beyond a mere ship’s drive?
Nebula. A bursting sun…
Then it dawns on me. Nebula is not only the ship’s name. It’s also a project.
Nebula is a weapon.
Now I understand the trail of wasted, burned-to-the-ground planets. Whatever Nebula-the-vessel is fitted with has something to do with Papa. Did Oberon force his people to test his new weapon on remote planets before assembling the biggest battlecruiser ever seen? That seismologist’s paydoc plastisheet I found in the bunker had nothing to do with mining. Whoever discarded it was there after they stripped the planet of personnel. Setting up the measuring equipment they needed before they turned the place to carbon. If I had time to think about it, I’d bet if we could determine the date of that paysheet, it would line up with the time Kozlov vanished from Oberon’s circle, forcing Oberon to accelerate his program. Maybe he feared a leak would upset his plans. His plans…
I stand too fast, even for the gravSuit. My vision blurs and I have to support myself against the table. Holding up a hand to interrupt whatever discussion was underway while I was deep in thought, I look at Kozlov beside me. “Nebula isn’t just a warship. I bet Nebula is Oberon’s codename for a weapons program.”
Kozlov stops to think, then nods assent. “That would fill in some obvious gaps.”
“Why is it heading to our planet?” An unnamed Rykkan interjects. “To invade and use the weapon to persuade us? What use would a scorched planet be to them?”
“They don’t want Rykkamon,” I say, feeling the tightness in my jaw. “Whoever it is wants Constellation. They don’t care about the planet. If we don’t give them Constellation, they’ll raze Rykkamon to ashes. And move on to the next victim until we do.”
Bait
“I think the Captain is right,” Kozlov says, absently caressing the stump of his missing finger. “Oberon would have cause to keep a major new weapon a secret, or risk an internal upheaval as those who crave power attempt to steal it.” He looks at me. “Whether you are also correct about Constellation, I don’t know. But I would bet my life that ship is equipped with a powerful weapon that could eradicate Rykkamon.”
Pedro looks fit to burst and tries to catch my eye. But I push on.
“Then we must—”
“There is no “we must,” Jackson,” says the surly Jovian who had taken me to task. “Why this sudden leap? Perhaps Oberon sends an envoy. If we make the wrong move, then we are surely inviting the Blood Empire to attack.”
I narrow my eyes at the aggressive-faced man. Normally, Jovians would be the first to agree to fight and claim the spoils. I punch up the holo and show the trail of burned-out planets. “Or risk this? Who’s to say Jupiter’s system won’t be next? It’s easy to speculate when Nebula isn’t heading toward your moons.”
“Pah. I say this is all another scheme of Jackson’s to reclaim power and feed her ego. Or her senseless quest to find a dead man.”
My blood boils at the reference to Papa and the Jovian’s casual dismissal of a threat. I harden my stare at the man, who I’m privately pleased to see flinch. “Did you forget it was a Jovian-origin shuttle that slammed into the space station? Is there some new information”—I peer to look at his nameplate—“Commander Brakken, that you would care to share?” I stand my ground.
Our fiery exchange is interrupted when the door opens and a harried officer races over to General Matlock and whispers in his ear, handing him a datapad. The general looks at it without reaction, then glances over to me. A flicker of anger passes over his face as he stands. “We’ve received advice from an anonymous source. Captain Jackson, I’m told you were in possession of an illicit simulacrum on one of Takao’s moons and when authorities tried to intercept, you shot them down. Takaon authorities have issued a warning for five craft that escaped capture, although our tracking systems show only four somewhere between Takao and here. I must ask you to explain.”
He remains standing while the room once again erupts into discord.
Crap.
On either side of me sit Danielli and the Chief. Danielli as usual, is impassive, as is the Chief. I sense the Rykkan’s unease at the news. He’ll have to warn his people before Rykkamon authorities shoot them out of the sky. Then again, the reason we flew under the radar is down to the Chief’s less-than-lawful history. I guess he’ll deal with it.
This news has somehow arrived well ahead of my predictions and now gives me another hurdle to jump. I’m curious about Matlock’s source. Seems there are more leaks than in a rusty Martian freighter. And they haven’t worked out how I got here so fast. I’ll keep the Doc’s tech hacks a secret for now. Now I have a fire to put out—which I might make go my way.
The Jovian commander is red-faced and on his feet. He holds up one hand and commands the room with his presence. “Quiet,” he says with an authority in his voice earned from decades of status. This is no fool I’m dealing with.
He meets my gaze. “This information only proves what I was about to say, Captain. Your words cannot be trusted.” He emphasizes the word captain as if it’s a slur. “Isn’t it the case that the attack vessel’s pilot was a SIM identical to you and coded by you?”
He sits down with a triumphant sneer and waits.
The attendees’ excitement is palpable as they grasp the ramifications of the Takaon incident and the space station attack.
Time to play my trump card.
I stay standing. “True enough. Which brings me to how someone could build an illegal SIM and replicate my codeprint. My investigation so far has led me right to your doorstep, Commander Brakken.” I duplicate his own sneering emphasis. “I suggest that the remnants of that SIM will prove beyond a doubt that it is of Jovian origin—”
“Outrageous.” Brakken’s face glowers. “Your accusations have no basis in fact.”
“Really?” I say with a smile. “Perhaps this will convince everyone else. And show them I had a good reason to escape Takao with such a telling cargo.”
I turn to Mokral, who inclines his massive head and waves for the door to open. I feel like I’m in the business of making dramatic entrances, but I had to play their game.
Kreev walks in, flanked by two tall Takaon military officers holding it at gunpoint and followed by a pair of Mokral’s own guards at the rear.
An anxious hubbub erupts, with more accusations flung my way, but I remain impassive. I can’t help notice Xavier taking a quick glance behind him at Pedro, who looks aghast.
“Kreev. Kneel.” I order over the noise.
The giant SIM kneels.
“What the hell do you think you’re pulling off here, Jackson?!” A ruddy-faced Earther, probably Mars-based, glares at me. “Risking our key senior officials. I’ve a good mind to shoot you—”
“I wouldn’t recommend it, sir.” I say. “I’ve programmed Kreev to defend me. It can pull your head off faster than you can draw your weapon. But I’m not here to threaten you. By all means, put me—and it—in custody if you like.”
Matlock interrupts. “Aren’t you proving our Jovian friend’s point? The presence of this SIM instructed to obey only you strengthens the likelihood of your guilt in the terror attack.”
Though I’m surprised at Matlock’s challenge, I sense he’s maneuvering the discussion by seeming to side with Brakken.
